Steven Kent - The Clone Redemption

Lieutenant Tatsu Hara lived by his own schedule. He put in his full eight-hour work detail, sometimes extending his shifts to twelve when needed. A man of infinite energy, Hara only slept three to four hours per day. He spent the rest of his time running his businesses.

The Sakura had a “love hotel.” It was not a brothel. Hara and the other Yakuza had originally planned to convert it into one, but sailors who tried to push drugs or prostitution disappeared along with their enterprises. Now the hotel simply rented rooms by the hour, and Hara did not get a cut.

He still ran the hotel. Knowing who reserved the rooms and knowing which officers slept with which women brought Hara more power than profit. A less patient man might have abandoned the hotel, but Hara did not measure success by money alone.

He and the fifteen remaining Yakuza made plenty of money from the casino, the Pachinko parlors, the dance club, and the five bars that they ran. They would have preferred to own these businesses, but operating them was profitable enough.

Hara sat in the back of his most profitable bar thinking about the future. Unlike the officers’ clubs, this bar was dark and quiet, a romantic place only a few doors from the hourly hotel. Soft music played over the speakers, hanging in the air like the scent of perfume. The door opened, and in the light from the hall, he saw the silhouette of a short man with a bald head.

The SEALs did not walk like other men; they glided with the sinewy grace of a cat on the prowl. He was alone. No woman. No friends. He walked into the bar, selected a small open table, and sat facing Hara.

Wearing dark glasses that did not block out light but did hide his eyes, Hara continued to watch the SEAL and the clone stared back at him. A second passed, and Hara walked over to the table. He said, “Master Chief, I’m surprised to see you here.”

Oliver smiled, rose to his feet though he did not salute, and said, “Lieutenant, I hope I am welcome here.”

“It’s an open bar, Master Chief,” said Hara. “Men, women, officers, enlisted men, it’s open to everyone.”

“Even clones?” asked Oliver.

“Are you waiting for a date?” Hara asked, though he knew the answer. The SEALs did not fraternize. He sometimes wondered if they had sex with each other though he doubted it. They were saints. They were demons. They were the kage no yasha .

“No,” said Oliver.

“Mind if I join you?” asked Hara.

The SEAL waved to the table, and they both took their seats. Though he prided himself on knowing everything that happened on the Sakura , Hara did not know what decisions Yamashiro had made after he left the briefing that afternoon.

Hara signaled to the waitress and ordered two glasses of single-malt Scotch, speaking in Japanese. Then he turned to the SEAL. Still speaking in Japanese, he asked, “Do you want yours on ice?”

When the SEAL pretended not to understand him, Hara said, “I know you speak Japanese.”

Oliver smiled at the waitress, and said, “Mizu de ii desu.”

She bowed, thanked him in Japanese, and went to get the drinks.

“Water?” asked Hara.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” said Oliver.

“When did you learn to speak Japanese?” asked Hara.

“After we left Earth,” Oliver said. “How did you know I could speak?”

“I watch more carefully than Admiral Yamashiro or Captain Takahashi.”

“You watch me more closely?”

“I watch everything more closely.”

The waitress returned. She gave Hara a five-finger tumbler with Scotch over ice. She gave Oliver a glass of water. She was a pretty girl with long hair and a dark complexion. Before leaving, she smiled at Oliver and nodded at Hara.

Oliver touched the water to his lips. He might have taken a small sip, Hara could not tell.

“You aren’t thirsty,” Hara observed. “Then why did you come to a bar?”

“Why do you think?”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“I’m like you, Lieutenant. I’m watchful,” said Oliver. His right hand sat on the table, the sharp fingers curled back, the knuckle of his forefinger knocking against the glass of water.

Hara was again reminded how much he disliked the SEALs. There was an order to Japanese society, a rhythm between authority and corruption. The SEALs disrupted it. Deciding to test the clone’s manners, Hara said, “We don’t see the kage no yasha in our bars very often.”

If he took offense, Oliver did not show it. He smiled briefly, and said, “Yes, we shadow demons prefer to remain in our lair.”

“You know that term as well,” Hara said, sounding both impressed and disappointed. “I was looking forward to translating it for you.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

Hara noticed that there was something different in the SEAL’s demeanor, and it made him nervous. Under most circumstances, the SEALs had an almost embarrassed air about them, as if they were ashamed to be seen. But Oliver was sitting in the open, his banter as comfortable as if he were family.

“What did you want to discuss, Master Chief?” Hara asked as he fumbled to slip the thumb of his left hand into the sleeve of his shirt. Hidden in the cuff, he had a panic button. By pressing it, he sent a distress signal to the other Yakuza .

“I came to let you in on a secret,” said Oliver. “Would you like to know what we talked about after you left the meeting?”

“As a matter of fact, I am curious about that,” Hara said.

Oliver spoke in a soft voice, a voice so calm and even that Hara had to lean over the table to hear him. The SEAL’s gaze fixed on Hara’s eyes.

In the past, the SEALs did not meet other officers’ gazes. There’s something different about him, Hara thought again. Something threatening. He rolled his thumb over the panic button again.

“But, Master Chief, isn’t that restricted information?” asked Hara.

Oliver did not respond to the question.

Hara watched as the door of the bar opened. With his back to that door, Oliver did not see the two brantooed sailors enter the bar. His eyes hidden behind dark glasses, Hara watched the men as they quietly slipped into a nearby booth.

“We’re heading back to New Copenhagen. Yamashiro wants to start a colony.”

“On New Copenhagen? That cinder of a planet might sustain life, but it would not be a life worth living,” said Hara.

“No one is calling it the Garden of Eden,” said Oliver.

“What about the ship they saw, the one that chased us away? What will he do if that ship returns?”

“We hit it with our best weapon,” Oliver said. “We have plenty of stealth infiltration pods.”

“You do realize that that was a Unified Authority ship. Does Yamashiro really want to fire on a U.A. ship?”

“We could always broadcast to Earth and ask the Unified Authority if the ship belongs to them,” said Oliver.

A man and a woman entered the bar. Hara did not care about the couple, but he was glad to see that there were three men with brantooed necks and dark glasses waiting outside the door, along with the two who had entered the bar. For the first time since the conversation began, the lieutenant allowed his thumb to drop from the panic button.

“I don’t understand why we are returning to the Orion Arm at all,” said Hara. “We have not completed our mission. Is the old man admitting defeat?”

“We still have a way of getting around the ion curtain,” said Oliver. “You’re a betting man. I’ll wager you’ve run a simulation of it.”

“Broadcasting the Sakura into their atmosphere? I’ve run the simulation. The ship won’t survive long. It’s suicide.”